A Handful Of Ficlets
by A Damned Scientist
Summary: Unconnected ficlets from recent challenges. Includes a standalone future fic, a Wallace and Gromit Crossover, a Withnail and I homage...
1. Promises To Keep stand alone futurefic

A short holiday fic from Farscapeland.

Spoilers: Set some time post Kkore war (comics). Spoilers from late S2 onwards. Aeryn remembers.

Farscape doesnt belong to me

Words 397

**Promises To Keep (G)**

Aeryn Sun, PeaceKeeper Commandant, wife, mother, felt a sudden jolt of recognition as she pulled out the long-forgotten shoulder bag. She could not recall seeing it since her return to Moya, a couple of cycles before. But now memories flooded back from the time when she had fled from Moya and found herself in unexpected places.

She opened the bag to look at and touch the handful of items within. There was a pair of large eye protectors. They were cheap and primitive, but their darkened lenses had been quite effective at shielding her eyes from the unaccustomed brightness of the days on the planet where the renegade Peacekeepers were based. She turned the glasses over in her hands like a touchstone before putting them down.

Next out of the old bag came a book, its pages now brown and its corners what John would call Vorc-eared. She had bought it on a whim in a spaceport about a monen after leaving Moya. Its many pages contained a frivolous, fabricated story, but Aeryn had lost and then begun to find herself again during the weekens of sporadic reading it had taken to complete: Stolen arns between missions, lying beside the ocean under a warm sun.

Lastly came the two garments: It had been hot on the planet, almost, but not quite, dangerous for Sebaceans. On her forays to the sandy ocean shore, these few patches of green fabric had been enough to comply with social norms. When not reading, she had spent those mostly solitary arns sometimes trying to forget, sometimes trying to remember. And sometimes consuming a strange, frozen sweet, a local delicacy, and trying not to let it dribble down her as it melted in the sun. She put down the garments on top of the book and sunglasses and sighed, remembering.

A few grains of sand escaped from the seams of the garments and adhered to her fingers. She looked at them thoughtfully for a few microts. Her time on that beach had definitely helped her come to terms with what had happened and what she should do next. The war with the Kkore had been long and tiring for all of them, and they needed to decide what to do now: She decided to talk to John about the three of them going somewhere similar and taking some time to relax and think.

End 


	2. Rygel and I: An homage

A Summer Holiday ficlet, written for Summer Vacation challenge over on Farscapeland.

Setting: Between S3 and S4. Stark comes to regret going with Rygel.

I stole the idea and much of the dialogue from something non-FS. Neither FS nor the subject of my burglary belong to me. PG for bad language and behaviour. The something other is the 'cult' Brit movie Withnail and I. A tale of two disreputable actors in the late 1960s. Apparently this film may not be well known outside of the UK.

Words: 468

**Rygel and I (PG)****  
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Stark eyed Rygel warily as a second elderly Sebacean approached their table. After everyone had gone their separate ways and left Moya, Stark had travelled with Rygel to the remote planetoid Hoy Lee Dai. They were in search of a contact from the forces who had promised to return Rygel to his throne. At that moment, however, Stark was horrified: Rygel was making a scene. They were supposed to be keeping a low profile!

"Did you hear her? She said she'd closed. What do you want in here?" demanded the male Sebacean.

"Marjoules and Razlak," Rygel replied imperiously. "What's it got to do with you?"

"I happen to be the proprietor. Now, will you leave?"

"Ah good, I'm glad you're the proprietor. I was going to have to have a word with you anyway."

"If you don't leave we'll call the authorities," his female companion interjected.

"Dren. We want the finest razlak available. We want it here and we want it now!" Rygel reiterated loudly.

"The authorities, Miss Penarth," The old man intoned.

"Don't do that Miss Penarth. I'm warning you Miss Penarth, if you do - you're fired. I am Dominar Rygel XVIth. I'll buy this place and fire you immediately!" Rygel shouted as Stark dragged him outside, hoping they wouldn't attract even more attention.

"~"

The rain was sheeting down at the remote rendezvous. Rygel hovered close to Stark as though seeking shelter from the larger male: Both were dripping wet and both thoroughly miserable. A dilapidated ground vehicle drew up beside them and its equally ragged occupant peered out at them.

"Are you our contact?" Rygel whined pitifully at the driver.

"Shut up Rygel, I'll deal with this," Stark hissed back.

"We've come to Hoy Lee Dai by mistake. We're in this hovel here. Are you the contact?" Rygel continued, wallowing in self-pity.

"Stop saying that Rygel, of course he's the frelling contact!" Stark snapped back. If he wasn't, then they were in deep trouble now.

"Actually…." Their contact replied. A vicious grin split his face as a pulse pistol appeared in his hand.

"~"

Their late, unlamented contact's old, tattered land transport had certainly seen better days. It weaved erratically through the dense, slow moving traffic towards the spaceport, Rygel grinning maniacally at the controls whilst Stark slept on the grubby, torn back seat.

A Charrid roadblock! Frell! Rygel quickly glanced around him, looking for escape routes. A solitary Hynerian could maybe sneak away on foot. He would miss Stark, Rygel thought as he slipped quietly out of the driver's door. However, sacrifices had to be made…..

The Charrid patrol approached the stationary vehicle, their weapons drawn. A single figure began to stir on the back seat. They raised their weapons.

"GET OUT THE BACK OF THE POD!" The captain of the patrol screamed.

End. Happy holidays.


	3. Crackers Matter: A Cracking Crossover

**Crackers Matter (G)**

Apologies: You did say you wanted a Cracker-fic, right? No? Oops. Would it help if I said that none of this belongs to me and no money is changing hands, I'm only borrowing them to play? So, although I am taking liberties, the only thing at risk here is John Crichton's sanity.

Words: 505

"~"

"Crichton! Aeryn!" Rygel shouted. "They're stealing our food. Get down here and stop them!"

"I'm on it!" Crichton shouted, leaping off his eema and into action.

"I'll be there in 20 microts!" Aeryn shouted in reply as she weaved through the winding corridors of Moya, one gloved hand already curled around the grip of the BFG slung from her shoulder.

"Crichton!" Snarled D'Argo, unslinging his qualta blade as he approached the hangar. "They will not escape from me!"

"Aeryn! D'Argo!" John shouted as he ran, wondering who would get there first. He was half terrified for his friends' safety without him, half horrified at the possibility of having to face Moya's invaders without them.

Crichton skidded into the docking bay in time to hear Aeryn, who had arrived just before him, bellow, "On the ground! Now!" D'Argo entered through another door and John saw him growl, shake his head and flourish his qualta blade. He also caught a glimpse of Rygel, hiding behind a packing case.

A large, egg-shaped rocket, painted bright orangey-red and standing on four large fins, dominated the bay. The two would-be thieves had been caught, out in the open, laden with dried food rectangles. They looked as guilty as they ought to.

One thief was an oatmeal-coloured quadruped with darker brown ears and a black nose. Its black eyes stared silently back at them, its intentions frighteningly unfathomable. It had already set down the, apparently, wicker basket it had been carrying in its mouth. The receptacle had been piled to overflowing with crackers. The second creature was a humanoid, its green sleeveless tunic showing a large area of the white shirt beneath. Brown, trousers and black shoes completed his attire. It clasped an armful of crackers to its chest. Both creatures had a deathly, waxy pallor about them.

Crichton shivered and swallowed his terror. They looked like nothing else he had seen in the Uncharted Territories.

"Eee, lad! What's she saying?" the words spilt from the now clearly frightened humanoid thief's unnaturally large, mobile and toothsome mouth. He dropped his armful of crackers and waved his hands frantically in front of him.

"You speak _English_?" Crichton replied unsteadily, coming alongside Aeryn and D'Argo. He wondered if his friends could hear the sound of one of the elastic bands in his head, from which his sanity precariously suspended, giving way.

"Do you think he might be an American, Gromit lad?" the humanoid asked his companion, without taking his eyes off the three Moyans. Gromit shrugged but remained silent. Crichton ran his free hand, the one not clasping Winona, through his hair as he struggled to make sense of the situation.

"But… Umm… What….?" He expounded carefully.

"I don't suppose we can talk about this over a nice cup of tea, hey?" The humanoid thief continued, disarmingly. The quadruped nodded his head enthusiastically. "We've plenty of cheeeese we can swap for some of your crackers. How about a nice bit of Wensleydale?"

The elastic band in Crichton's head broke with a loud twang.

The end

PS, for those of you who still have no idea what this fic is about, go and look up Wallace and Gromit A Grand Day Out


End file.
